Ease it in.
Stop at the light. Light turns green, pull forward. Use turn signal and make the 2nd right after the light and come to a slow stop. Check traffic coming opposite way, clear. Take left into driveway, stop. Hit garage door opener. Wait. Gate's open, ease down inside. Pull into space, ease up to bumper stop. Turn off ignition.
Take stereo face, get groceries from car, walk to elevator. Push button wait.
How did I get so different from everybody else?
Elevator come, get inside. Put groceries down and hit button for 2nd floor.
Pick up groceries, think about life, oh, the elevators stopped, and here's my... Shit, this is 1, never mind.
Let old lady hobble into the elevator. I should ask which floor but I've got 40 pounds worth of groceries oh and look, she's already pressing 4. Well, no worries.
In the time between the first floor and the second:
I should have hit that button for her. I mean, she's old. She's got a scowl on her face, life obviously hasn't been superb for this woman, or at least it isn't at this exact moment. Does she have more good moments than bad?
She understands. I didn't hit the button because she can see I have 3 heavy ass double-paper grocery bags in my hands. She just stands there, waiting in uncomfortable silence for us to get to 2. Does not look at me. I get that a lot.
Does she just stare straight ahead because she's lost in her own miserable world? Is she miserable. She's not smiling. She probably doesn't speak that much english, or desire to talk to me. I'll bet she grew up in a country where carrying 3 heavy bags of groceries into your apartment would be unheard of, even if you were physically capable of doing so.
Maybe her bones ache. Maybe someone she knows just died. That happens too. Maybe she hates her husband, or she really loved him and he just died.
Or is he alive and she rues the day they met? Regrets it with each passing moment, a constant exercise in self deprivation for the sake of convenience. The exercise never ends. She looks back with great fondness to the memories of her economically disadvantaged childhood. They didn't have much in those days, but people were closer. Friends meant more. Living hadn't yet lost it's luster.
See? The most you could hope for would be someone to love you despite growing old, and even that pales in comparison to the alternative. Unless you believe in god, but you'd rather die than become some intellectually scatuous dogmatic regurgitation device, or tool, to be more specific.
Time, life can do that to one's dreams. I'll bet she had big plans moving to "America", the city of angels. Isn't that ironic? But gradually, over the years, you realize the abundance of pleasure, the never ending cascading torrents of bliss and self actualization are the end of the rainbow: you can see it, but you can never get there or touch it.
No, love does not conquer all, in the harsh reality but pleasantly mild climate of Los Angeles. This woman and I, of whom I know nothing, share a common fate. At some point, we will cease to be. I wish her well, but will learn from what I've projected onto her to reinforce my internal decree.
When I go, it will be by my own hand. Unless it's some unforseen catastrophe. I wish not to gradually corrode into disrepair and loneliness. Not for me, Jack. Is that too real?
Oh, here's the second floor.
Most people don't think about such things. We want to worry about making that next light, hooking up with that person, paying our credit card bills and rent on time, getting a raise at work.
Too much reality is counter productive. It's just uncomfortable.
We need to believe that the end is an infinite distance away. What's the use about thinking about getting sick, or being murdered, being on that plane that just missed that last bit of needed maintenance?
There is no functional purpose. But that's where I differ from most people.
I have a lifetime ahead of me. I love life. I love being in love. And in a sick way I also love being lonely, but I'm sure that's more utility than desire.
I want to do so many things, have a positive impact on people's lives, somehow get my shit together and help others get theirs too. But this is as much delusion as having to assume that the end is an unimaginable unit of time in the future, with infinite possibilities for action and experience between now and then.
I don't believe in god, in case you haven't got that yet. Naturally, that leaves a lot of questions.
I believe in getting laid.
Manifesting the activity that we've evolved for millions of years in order to experience. The orgasm with a partner of your choosing. Being alive at a time and location where another human being accepts you faults and all and asks you to do the same because they want you so much they have to.
Validation, seduction, passion, exchange, insatiable...
That's as close to any concept of god as I'll ever need to be.
I enjoy and lament the absence of those times in my past, and eagerly await the times and persons with which I will enjoy these occasions in the future. But I desire not to have children. No children, no god. What does that leave?
Simply put, cessation. When I can honestly say that no woman of my choosing would think to have me in her bed, the time of my end will be at hand. Luckily, I can get pretty old before I get to that point. Who knows, maybe I'll be 82 and some hot 75 year old will be yearning to jump my frail bones. That's a funny thought.
No, I suppose it will be sooner than that. Only time and the universe can dictate when my time will come, and neither one sees fit to bestow upon me that fantastic revelation. I suppose it's for the best. So I'll make the best with what I have. I've got things to do, places to go, and people to see.
So best of luck to you in your future endeavors, whoever you are. Here's to a better future.
Stop at the light. Light turns green, pull forward. Use turn signal and make the 2nd right after the light and come to a slow stop. Check traffic coming opposite way, clear. Take left into driveway, stop. Hit garage door opener. Wait. Gate's open, ease down inside. Pull into space, ease up to bumper stop. Turn off ignition.
Take stereo face, get groceries from car, walk to elevator. Push button wait.
How did I get so different from everybody else?
Elevator come, get inside. Put groceries down and hit button for 2nd floor.
Pick up groceries, think about life, oh, the elevators stopped, and here's my... Shit, this is 1, never mind.
Let old lady hobble into the elevator. I should ask which floor but I've got 40 pounds worth of groceries oh and look, she's already pressing 4. Well, no worries.
In the time between the first floor and the second:
I should have hit that button for her. I mean, she's old. She's got a scowl on her face, life obviously hasn't been superb for this woman, or at least it isn't at this exact moment. Does she have more good moments than bad?
She understands. I didn't hit the button because she can see I have 3 heavy ass double-paper grocery bags in my hands. She just stands there, waiting in uncomfortable silence for us to get to 2. Does not look at me. I get that a lot.
Does she just stare straight ahead because she's lost in her own miserable world? Is she miserable. She's not smiling. She probably doesn't speak that much english, or desire to talk to me. I'll bet she grew up in a country where carrying 3 heavy bags of groceries into your apartment would be unheard of, even if you were physically capable of doing so.
Maybe her bones ache. Maybe someone she knows just died. That happens too. Maybe she hates her husband, or she really loved him and he just died.
Or is he alive and she rues the day they met? Regrets it with each passing moment, a constant exercise in self deprivation for the sake of convenience. The exercise never ends. She looks back with great fondness to the memories of her economically disadvantaged childhood. They didn't have much in those days, but people were closer. Friends meant more. Living hadn't yet lost it's luster.
See? The most you could hope for would be someone to love you despite growing old, and even that pales in comparison to the alternative. Unless you believe in god, but you'd rather die than become some intellectually scatuous dogmatic regurgitation device, or tool, to be more specific.
Time, life can do that to one's dreams. I'll bet she had big plans moving to "America", the city of angels. Isn't that ironic? But gradually, over the years, you realize the abundance of pleasure, the never ending cascading torrents of bliss and self actualization are the end of the rainbow: you can see it, but you can never get there or touch it.
No, love does not conquer all, in the harsh reality but pleasantly mild climate of Los Angeles. This woman and I, of whom I know nothing, share a common fate. At some point, we will cease to be. I wish her well, but will learn from what I've projected onto her to reinforce my internal decree.
When I go, it will be by my own hand. Unless it's some unforseen catastrophe. I wish not to gradually corrode into disrepair and loneliness. Not for me, Jack. Is that too real?
Oh, here's the second floor.
Most people don't think about such things. We want to worry about making that next light, hooking up with that person, paying our credit card bills and rent on time, getting a raise at work.
Too much reality is counter productive. It's just uncomfortable.
We need to believe that the end is an infinite distance away. What's the use about thinking about getting sick, or being murdered, being on that plane that just missed that last bit of needed maintenance?
There is no functional purpose. But that's where I differ from most people.
I have a lifetime ahead of me. I love life. I love being in love. And in a sick way I also love being lonely, but I'm sure that's more utility than desire.
I want to do so many things, have a positive impact on people's lives, somehow get my shit together and help others get theirs too. But this is as much delusion as having to assume that the end is an unimaginable unit of time in the future, with infinite possibilities for action and experience between now and then.
I don't believe in god, in case you haven't got that yet. Naturally, that leaves a lot of questions.
I believe in getting laid.
Manifesting the activity that we've evolved for millions of years in order to experience. The orgasm with a partner of your choosing. Being alive at a time and location where another human being accepts you faults and all and asks you to do the same because they want you so much they have to.
Validation, seduction, passion, exchange, insatiable...
That's as close to any concept of god as I'll ever need to be.
I enjoy and lament the absence of those times in my past, and eagerly await the times and persons with which I will enjoy these occasions in the future. But I desire not to have children. No children, no god. What does that leave?
Simply put, cessation. When I can honestly say that no woman of my choosing would think to have me in her bed, the time of my end will be at hand. Luckily, I can get pretty old before I get to that point. Who knows, maybe I'll be 82 and some hot 75 year old will be yearning to jump my frail bones. That's a funny thought.
No, I suppose it will be sooner than that. Only time and the universe can dictate when my time will come, and neither one sees fit to bestow upon me that fantastic revelation. I suppose it's for the best. So I'll make the best with what I have. I've got things to do, places to go, and people to see.
So best of luck to you in your future endeavors, whoever you are. Here's to a better future.
kg:
this, for a lack of a better word, was epic.